


Postcards

by HedwigsTalons



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Established Relationship, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romantic Gestures, it all works out in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28288254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedwigsTalons/pseuds/HedwigsTalons
Summary: Isak's wall is covered in postcards.Isak is supportive of Even's career and he cherishes every postcard but the long distance relationship hurts.  But one day the postcard he gets isn't from a film festival.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 17
Kudos: 133





	Postcards

Isak’s wall is covered in postcards.

Gone are his futile attempts at proclaiming his heterosexaulity. The stupid swimsuit posters ripped down long ago and given a ceremonial burning that set off the smoke detectors and left an acrid smell in the kitchen that lingered for days. Now his walls are adorned with bright scenes of Venice, Berlin, Paris, Bogotá, Tokyo, Sydney. Some of them places he thinks he might visit one day, others he knows for certain he never will. 

As each one arrives he feels a glow of pride as well as the pang loss for these are no ordinary postcards. The backs don’t tell of holiday travels, fabulous weather and even more fabulous food. These postcards tell the story of Even’s life, each one a film festival scattered across the globe. 

It started as a throwaway comment. _Send me a postcard_. The request garbled at the end of a long distance video call in which Even had gushed about the invitation and about how great it was to get the recognition. But a few days later the little rectangle arrived, an artsy cityscape on the front and a short, scrawled message on the reverse. And a title. Always a title. He’d stared at it slightly dumbstruck before smiling and tacking it above his bed. The first of many. 

Sometimes the others tease him about it, turning it into a game and testing him, pointing at a card at random. _What about this one? This one?_ He always knows the answer, it trips off his tongue in a way that shows the information is etched in his heart as well as his mind. He might forget when it is his turn to buy milk or toilet paper but he never forgets which film goes with the sweeping view of a crystal blue bay or a shot of a statue at sunset.

Each new postcard comes with a bittersweet feeling. Of course he was happy that Even’s career has taken off in ways neither of them could have dreamed of, but every new accolade just accentuates the distance between them. There was Even, an up and coming young director half a world away, making a name among the cinematic players in LA. There was he, back sharing with Eskild and Linn, as if that brief and glorious period of living with Even had never happened. 

It’s familiar, comfortable, and eases the aches of trying to maintain a long distance relationship. It’s easier to hold a smile when he knows that within 5 minutes a call ending one of them, usually Eskild, will be there with a mug of tea and a sympathetic ear. When the call announces another delay or project overrun that means a trip home is postponed then tea arrives almost instantly. 

Sometimes he wonders if the calls and cards will one day stop. On those days the tea comes with cookies.

Today is evidently not that day.

He’s barely been in the door two minutes when the letterbox rattles and there’s a new postcard appearing on the mat. It makes him pause, scarf still around his neck, hat still bearing flakes of snow that haven’t yet had a chance to melt in the warmth of the apartment, to scoop up that little rectangle.

He assumes it’s from Jonas or Eva or one of the others sending Christmas wishes from winter holidays at cosy cabins. Firstly the scene is distinctly homely despite home being the city and not the picturesque fjord captured on the card, and secondly he knows there are no film festivals. He always knows when there is a festival.

He takes a moment to glance at the scene before flipping it to check the message. Just three words stare back at him.

_Open the door_

He's tired. Work has been hell and he's been pulling extra shifts as a way to numb the aching loneliness that Christmas brings so he thinks he should be forgiven for the confused frown that creases his brow. There is no address, no stamp, no postmark and it takes him a moment to realise that the familiar scrawl is not a film title but an instruction. 

His frown morphs into a glowing smile as he turns back to the door, fumbling with the catch in his haste to yank it open. And there is Even, eyes sparkling with desire and cheeks flushed rosy from the freezing night. 

There is a momentary pause as each just stares at the other before Isak is surging forwards to capture chapped lips with his own. 

It’s skipping hearts, it’s time standing still, it’s every cheesy cliche in the book but Isak doesn’t care because the person he loves, the person he thought was halfway across the world, is there in his arms and Isak melts. At least until Even’s hands work their way under his many layers and graze against bare skin. 

“Fuck, you’re freezing.”

As opening greetings go it’s not the most eloquent and definitely ruins the hallmark moment as he skitters away from the icy touch.

“Yeah, well, I had to wait around until I knew you were home.”

And that’s Even all over, willing to risk hypothermia in order to capture the perfect moment. Isak wonders what he has done to deserve someone so wonderfully romantic and hopelessly stupid. He leans in for another kiss before pulling abruptly away and dragging him into the kitchen on a quest for hot drinks.

It’s several hours later, when they are wrapped in the duvet on Isak’s bed and feeling thoroughly warm that Isak finally plucks up the courage to ask the questions that has been plaguing his thoughts from the moment Even arrived. He’s not sure he wants to know the answer, isn’t sure he’s ready to start the inevitable countdown clock, but he needs to know. 

“How long are you back for?”

It takes Even a moment to answer, choosing instead to first place a kiss to the top of Isak’s head and run long fingers through those blonde curls he’s missed so much.

“Forever?”

And that has Isak shifting. Twisting round in startled surprise so he can look into Even’s eyes and gauge his sincerity.

“Seriously? But what about your films?”

“Well I’d need to head back and tie up loose ends, empty my apartment, that sort of stuff. But I think it’s about time Norway experienced my cinematic genius.”

The put upon arrogance earns him a look of raised eyebrowed indignation. The sort that Even has always found cute and endearing. Even pulls Isak back down until his boyfriend is settled comfortably in his arms again.

“I’m am serious though. About moving home.” And it makes Isak’s heart skip again to hear that home is still Oslo and not LA. “The whole long distance thing, it hurts and I know it hurts you too; you’re a pretty good actor, Isak, but not that good. I can make films anywhere in the world and I want to be making them wherever you are. These last few years, they’ve given me a great start, but the longer we’re apart the more I want to be back with you.”

***

Isak’s wall is covered in postcards.

Except now the bed they are arranged above belongs to both of them.


End file.
